


Ten Thousand Times Broken

by Pereprin



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Control Issues, F/M, Fallout Kink Meme, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Mild Gore, Near Death Experiences, Restraints, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:30:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pereprin/pseuds/Pereprin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repost and continuation of my fill for the meme, plus a few edits.  Courier Six is at odds with Zion and the Burned Man. She's survived this long thanks to a warped moral code and good fortune, but her luck finally runs out as illness and the monsters of Zion unravel her. Survival depends on surrendering control to the one thing she truly fears in Utah: Joshua Graham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bent

When the sun first peaked over the red canyon, it was just a case of clammy hands and a dull throb in her temples. By noon, it was a fever. By three o'clock, it was a whole new kind of hell and the pit in her stomach grew three sizes when she realized that the bulk of her medical supplies was sitting in a locker hundreds of miles west. Dallas was all kinds of screwed.

She'd taken refuge amid the picnic benches at the old rest stop and sank to her knees, heaving a hot, heavy sigh of relief as she peeled the sweat-soaked muffler from her neck and shoved it into her alarmingly-empty backpack. Dallas tugged off her aviators with a brown-gloved hand, tucking them into the front pocket of her weather-worn duster as she examined the contents of her pack. She dragged the back of a free hand across her damp forehead, knocking her ball cap askew with little concern for appearances. She could feel her eyes pulsing in their sockets. Everything ached, from the tips of her fingers to the end of her short ponytail. Dallas hadn't consulted a mirror since well before her arrival in Zion, but she didn't need a reflection to show her what she was already feeling - fair skin, paler; dark bags underlining bloodshot eyes. She'd sooner stab herself in the crotch than live the junkie life, but here she was, looking every part the addict and wishing she had something chemical to make the pain go away - a far cry from the sober, clean avenging angel rumors made her out to be.

A quick rummage yielded pitiful results. She had ammunition to last her through the next nuclear holocaust, but her rations and first aid supplies were another matter. She barely had the means to treat a paper cut, much less a proper illness. She had a stimpak, half a roll of gauze, and a bottle of Rad-X to get her through whatever else Zion decided to dump on her. She hadn't seen a yao guai in a couple of days; she figured she was probably due for a good mauling, so she had that going for her.

Dallas cursed softly under her breath, resolving herself to toughing out whatever infection or virus was currently having a field day with her body. Something as vanilla as a fever didn't warrant the waste of what precious little medicine she had left. She only wished Graham and his Dead Horses had some appreciation of modern science and all the painkillers that came with it.

She hoisted her pack over her shoulder, pushing damp chunks of dark brown bangs from her face as she sought the certainty of the winding paved road ahead.

She reached the mouth of Angel Cave by dusk with a bone chill rattling her to the marrow. Dallas figured that wading through the river would have done something to alleviate the heat the plagued her, but it was all wrong. From the neck down, she was cold, but she was fairly certain there was a tiny furnace burning inside her skull.

She was greeted with words of welcome from the Dead Horses taking their meals round the fire. Dallas nodded in reply, too exhausted to form sentences and too steeped in antiquated manners to ignore them outright.

They were good people, if not naive, but their innocence impressed upon her this unshakable resolve to protect them. They irritated her as much as they endeared themselves to her with their love for family and consideration for the living world. But their innocence didn't make them strong fighters. Their field medicine comprised of roots and herbs that Dallas knew little of, except for the tendency of some of them to induce wild hallucinations. Fiery hallucinations. And bears.

In a place like this, she felt so foreign. In the Mojave, she'd been the bright light, the woman walking the straight and narrow, the unapologetic white knight. Here, among the tribals, she felt like the savage. The blood didn't wash off as quickly here. It lingered, leaving her wide awake on her bedroll long after sleep should have taken her. The proximity to running water and the sounds of the canyon lulled her into a reverie she didn't often experience, at least not one that dragged all her repressed guilt to the surface. The calm of the river, far from the poisons and spears of the White Legs, had an entirely unexpected effect. Every time she trekked back to the cave, disturbing the waters, she began to doubt.

So she sought Joshua Graham, the only person in Zion she knew of with a ledger redder than her own. Dallas had known him from legends alone, but hasn't understood why his name was whispered throughout the wastes until her doomed caravan set off for the red cliffs. It was a story told to pass the time; repeated too often and with too much gravity, given what really became of Graham.

She was wary at first, naturally, but his talk of God and virtue sent her head spinning and the boogey-man Graham that had manifested in her head before stepping into Angel Cave all but disintegrated. The infamous Malpais Legate was unrecognizable, and the Burned Man possessed a loathing for Caesar that trumped her own. He was intelligent, patient, and a proponent of action. Dallas found more similarities between them than she cared to catalog, but she thought no further than that. For all she appreciated about him, she simply couldn't forget the truth in the legends. There was a darkness within him that she caught glimpses of when the conversation turned to war. Dallas wouldn't so soon forget the dead sentries welcoming her to Zion, nor the man who bade the Dead Horses to put them there... or what they represented. But in the safety of this valley, as he tended his flock, she put the thoughts from her mind. When night fell, when she remembered what he was, the fear came. A light in the valley. A monster everywhere else. 

She wasn't sure what scared her more: him and his legacy, or how well they seemed to get along.

Follows-Chalk approached her as she dragged herself from the river, footfalls heavy with the weight of the water. He was smiling in earnest at her return. It made Dallas want to remind him to never, ever leave Zion, or set foot in New Vegas. That was a purity she couldn't stand to think of tainted.

"Welcome back. We saved you some gecko. By the fire, there. You look like you could use it."

Her stomach lurched. She swallowed thickly and mumbled a thank-you.

"Appreciate it. I gotta check in with Graham real quick." She paused before whipping up a lie. "Keep an eye on it for me, would you? I could eat a whole damn brahmin."

 _And then throw it up_ , she thought bitterly. Dallas was hungry, but the thought of eating anything made the bile in her stomach churn violently.

"Inside,” Follows-Chalk gestured to the torches illuminating the cave’s entrance. "It's good to see you in one piece." He clapped a hand on her shoulder before he returned to the fire.

"You're welcome." It took her a good minute to realize that made no sense. Follows-Chalk gave her a look, but let it lie. She only half-aware of what she was saying as she trudged on, lusting after the moment when she could finally shed the weight of her gear and sweat in peace.


	2. Battered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue in this chapter was modified significantly to better set up what I had in mind for the next chapter. It reads pretty differently from the kink meme version.

She found Joshua Graham with Two-Bears-High-Fiving as she passed through the warmly-lit mouth of the cave. Hesitation set in, and she decided against interrupting. But the sound of her footsteps seemed enough to capture his attention. The weight of his eyes made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Dallas suddenly felt the urge to fidget. She cleared her throat and shifted her weight, along with the rest of her gear as Graham walked towards her. Somewhere along the way, she found the nerve to meet his gaze. Eyes unblinking. Jaw set. Chin, high.

"My scouts confirmed the White Legs' retreat to the Southern Passage. It will be some time before they can regroup. It seems our debt to you compounds every day. Thanks at this point seem paltry, but nevertheless - you have our gratitude." His voice rumbled against the cavern walls. Graham motioned for Dallas to follow him into the cavern she assumed served as his quarters. Torches greeted them, the wan light lapping at the scattered piles of books and crates of clips. Empty shell casings and tattered rags littered his 'desk,' the black-bound Bible a fixture among them. Motor memory alone guided her to the other side of his table. In that moment, she wanted nothing more to curl up under his pile of freshly-cleaned pistols and sleep for days. But there was work to be done.

Dallas dropped her bag to the floor. She unbuckled her glove and wriggled her arm out of her Pip-Boy, placing the monitor on his table as she turned the dial to her map. A deep breath steadied her voice. "Thank me when it's over. Which I hope to fuck is soon." She leaned over the table, pointing out the faintly glowing bridge marker she'd set with a tap of her index finger.

"We pushed'm back to the Old Rockville Bridge. Thinned'm out before they made it to the Eastern Virgin. They'll be hurting pretty bad right now, but I don't think they'll be down for long. I'll eat my fucking hat if we see an assault like that again in the next few days, but we're still prone to small ambushes out there." Dallas turned the dial to zero in on a new marker. "I think if we rig a few traps through the canyon, - explosives at Substation Peregrine, and this bridge here - and get Daniel's scouts out here, we can push them so far north that we'd actually have enough time to mount an offensive." She was out of breath by the time she finished. Joshua said nothing, but he appeared fixated on the locations she'd marked on her digital map.

Dallas collapsed bodily into the chair behind her, groping for the canteen strapped to her bag. "They may not be on their guard now, but it's only a matter of time until they realize this isn't for shits and giggles... “ She fumbled a few times before finally unscrewing the cap. The water seemed impossibly cold, forcing her throat to work harder to swallow. It felt more like ice cubes going down and she was left feeling even more exhausted from the effort. All the while, Graham's gaze burned a hole through her skull. She didn't have to look at him to know exactly what he was doing.

She reclined, dragging the backside of a gloved hand across her mouth. "... And when they do, they'll go for the throat."

Joshua Graham was silent for a good while. By the time she resolved herself to look at him, he'd sat back as well. "I would expect nothing else from the White Legs. We're prepared."

A twinge of relief eased the tension in her shoulders. Dallas let her head fall back against the chair. She shut her eyes for one precious moment while she inhaled deeply, musing aloud. "I'm going to put the caches in place before Daniel and his scouts get here. One at Peregrine, another at the bridge. Classic ambush. We lure them up there. We blow them the fuck up."

Dallas sighed, lifting her head at last to find herself frozen in place by a paralyzing blue stare. Joshua was sitting upright, bandaged fingers steepled in front of his chin on the hardwood table. She stared back dumbly, knowing quite well she should have been more alarmed than she was. In that moment, though, she just wanted to sleep.

"You're not well,” His voice rolled over her skin so softly. It unnerved her, made her wonder if she'd imagined those words coming from him. Made her hope she had.

But she hadn't. Of course she hadn't. She met his gaze and a heavy silence passed between them.

Sometimes, she just didn't know what to do with that pit of snakes she called feelings about Joshua Graham. He was the foundation of the legion, the Legate. The brand on her back was a remnant of his legacy. Though his hand hadn't wielded the iron. He made it law. And so she burned. But so had he. Unlike her, though, he'd never stop burning.

That knowledge alone was enough to keep her prejudice in check.

"I'll be fine." She lied. Dallas felt like her skin might melt off any moment. Sleep would help. Sleep had to help. Joshua Graham would not help.

Graham's eyes bore into her from behind swaths of bandages. "Of course you will," he offered lightly, but something in his tone made Dallas think there may have been sarcasm in there. That may have incensed her on any other day. Today, she didn't have it in her. She resisted the urge to shift in her chair and instead opted to appeal to his reason.

"I gave you my word, Graham. I aim to make good on it. If we wait any longer, things will go real south, real quick. And your boys don't know how to rig this shit." The evenness of her voice surprised her.

He raised his hands and bared bandaged palms in surrender. "You're free to do as you please, here. You're not one of my flock and I respect your autonomy. I only ask that in exercising your will, you also consider your limitations. You are quite capable, you have proven that. But you are mortal. As is everyone that bears arms with you out there."

Something in his eyes softened and Dallas folded her arms across her chest, lips drawn tight as his words nagged at her conscience. "You talk like there's a choice here. There isn't."

Graham's gaze held hers for a moment before it fell upon the bible between them. "I had hoped there was, but I am not above admitting that hope may have been misplaced."

They sat in stiff silence for what seemed like the longest few seconds of Dallas' life. In the quiet, idling there, thoughts moved from the task at hand to the pain that wracked her body. The sensation of being hot and cold all at once. The sandpaper tongue that wouldn't fit in her cotton mouth. The eyeballs that burned in their sockets. The exhaustion that left her with aching bones, begging to rest. The fevered thoughts that crept out of that dark part of her mind, the one she kept so neatly locked up out in the wastes of Nevada.

Zion was clawing at the gates.

At last, Joshua stood up, the legs of his chair scraping loudly against the floor of the cave. "I'll trust your judgment on this."

Dallas opened her mouth to thank him, but neither the words nor the will to do so came to her. Instead, she nodded weakly and reached for her Pip-Boy.

"I'll be out early. When Daniel gets here, send him straight to Peregrine. I'll meet him there." She tore off the tan ball cap and shouldered her pack, trailing closely behind Joshua as they made their way through the narrow passageway toward the mouth of Angel Cave. .

“If you’ve any concern for your own health, you’ll sleep inside tonight,” Joshua spoke as they walked, not turning to face her as he did so.

Stubbornness bade her to refuse, but her aching limbs screamed at her to consider the comfort of a warm bedroll over the night air she’d have to endure in her lean-to. Still, she scoffed.

“That an order?”

He paused before replying, as if weighing his words. “Friendly advice born out of concern for your well-being.” He stopped at the mouth of the cave, the torch’s flames casting flickering shadows across his bandaged face, light glinting in his eyes. “Where no wise guidance is, the people fall. But in the multitude of counselors, there is safety.”

Dallas had grown accustomed to his quotes, though she never knew the context. On their own, they were worth the thought. But now, tired and heavy, he may as well have called her a cheap whore and she’d have nothing but smiles for him. She held her cap to her brow in a mock salute. She may as well have spat on his flak vest.

“Right back at'cha.”

Sights set on the fire and promise of warmth, she set off for the riverbank, well-aware of the gaze that followed her to the shore.


	3. Fallen

Benny's smug grin taunted her. Again. That stupid, too-confident smile made her palm the handle of the ten millimeter hidden in her coat while she nursed a glass of scotch, glaring at him over the rim.

"Baby, whaddya say?"

His words boomed in her ears while the stiff drink burned in her throat. The confident grip faltered and fell away from her gun and she was suddenly standing. But he was in front of her again, that smile forcing her heart to soften, the walls around it crumbling after months of effort to protect it from the forces that seemed hell bent on burying her.

"Baby, whaddya say?"

His voice affected her like it shouldn't have. Dallas' face faltered and the look of loathing melted into uncertainty, regret. She let her hand fall.

"I forgive you. Get out of here, Benny. And don't come back."

As soon as she bid it, he was gone. Time jumped forward and in his place, four men in grey suits. She groped for her weapon, which had inexplicably vanished, eyes wide in horror as they closed the distance between them. Time became something heavy, the air too thick, like wading through syrup. She tried to back away, but the hard chest against her spine assured her she was surrounded. The goon opened his mouth, but it was Benny's voice she heard.

"You're just so sweet, pussycat. It almost hurts."

"Fuck you," she seethed through her clenched teeth, eyes ablaze.

"Not tonight, baby," the goon behind her whispered all too close to her ear, Benny's voice ringing once more. In an instant, she was ready with a left hook, lunging straight into the barrel of a gun.

The sound of the shot and her own scream woke her, and she jerked upright with a breathless gasp, clutching her side as the shallow scar throbbed. Light brown hair clunk to her cheeks in damp knots. Sweat poured down her temples and she sat under her lean-to, panting while the remnants of her fever dream dissolved into the darkness. She stared at her open palms, waiting for her heart to slow.

When it stopped hammering, she looked up, watching the reflection of the moon dance on the water. Benny's voice was all that remained of her nightmare, too real to ignore. Too recent to forget. Dallas sighed heavily, dragging a hand down her face. It had been weeks since Benny had last taunted her in her sleep. She thought she owed his absence to the canyon and the wealth of distractions. But as her head pulsed and bones ached, she knew he'd caught up. An old, familiar burning rose in her gut, hate she thought she had overcome.

But it was there, hot and real and filling her with the doubt and regret she'd fought so hard to quell. Hate she wished she could focus all on the chairman who'd shot her, like she'd done before. No, this was different. This was self-loathing rearing its ugly head as the consequence of her mercy haunted her. She wouldn't be so easily tempted to make the same mistake again. The dream would remain a dream.

The silence of the night settled upon her again and her attention returned to the unrelenting pain that tortured her body. She felt as though she'd only slept for a few minutes. Her eyes shifted to the darkened mouth of the cave, the fire of the torches beckoning her.

Graham's invitation came to mind and she bit her lip. Pride was a hard thing to swallow, made easier by her brittle resolve. She did not want be in close proximity with Joshua Graham and his barrel of nine mils. But she also wanted to sleep that night, and the chattering of her own teeth was bound to keep that from happening. She gathered up her bedroll and hobbled stiffly to the cave.

 

* * *

 

The sun was going to kill her. Dallas was sure of it. She'd burst into flames right there in that fucking canyon. She'd go down just like Joshua Graham was supposed to, only without the irony. Or her body would fail. A knee wouldn't lock, maybe. She'd tumble into the river and drown in ten inches of water. Or a bad step would send her sliding down the red cliff sides, along with the boulders balanced precariously above. Entombed for eternity by rocks older than fucking God.

She stank like the sick. She'd stumbled out of her fever dream into the pre-dawn, seeking relief from the cold waters of Zion, only to find her thirst nigh unquenchable. She'd swallow, breathe easy again, only to be consumed right after by whatever fiery infection was waging war inside her.

Dallas kept to herself that morning and slipped out of the cave at first light, eager to avoid talking to any of the Dead Horses - they all knew the plan. Graham, especially. The man did something to her nerves that she didn't much care for.

Burning though she was, she shivered.

Heat emanated from her in waves. The skin around her eyes felt tight. Her pores ached. Every bone and joint protested as she hauled herself and her stock of munitions up toward the rangers station. The sounds of dirt crunching beneath her boots and her own ragged breathing formed a maddening tempo that echoed inside her skull.

Dallas was going to die before noon without firing a single fucking shot that day. She'd go out like a punk. Anonymous. Quiet. A pitiable death for the new scourge of the Legion.

With a grunt, she hoisted the pack up her shoulder and marched on. Picturing Caesar's head underfoot gave her a surprising boost in willpower. It wouldn't last. Not so long as the sun reigned above. Goddamn, she was going to melt. Shaking hands dug into the satchel as she climbed up the steep slope toward the observation deck. One hand clutched a bound bundle of dynamite. As the terrain evened out, her calves stopped burning. She took a moment to survey the station, struggling to find the memory of the previous day's work. She crouched low and scraped at the pile of rocks she'd placed yesterday, revealing the alcove. She hid the explosives and concealed their presence with a large stone.

The sun at the back of her neck marked the hour. Daniel was nowhere to be seen. She swore under her breath and turned back toward the way she came.

Right down the barrel of a rifle.

Nostrils flared and eyes widened while time slowed to a crawl. The muzzle flashed and Dallas let her knees give out, ducking the shot while the White Leg party began their assault in earnest. The canyon exploded with gunfire. Dallas rolled left, seeking the cover from the ranger station while the three tribals let loose a volley. Her heart thudded in her throat, damn near suffocating her. She could hear the bullets clanging as they connected with the shelter walls. Wild voices belted out their battle cries. She vaulted to her feet, adrenaline numbing the aches and pains that crippled her. Dallas moved with unchecked purpose - dirt in her teeth and bleeding knuckles.

A primal roar rattled her to the bone. Fingers deftly unclipped her ten millimeter from its holster as a White Leg went flying off the cliff's edge. The rest of his raiding party balked, as stunned as Dallas, as the yao guai surged up the slope. She blinked and the White Legs where in pieces, screams physically torn from their throats by a gnashing maw.

Dallas stumbled backward, grappling for a thought. For a plan. For the answer her fever-addled brain rarely had on a good day. Trembling fingers reached for the dynamite in her satchel. A scream rang out. Hers? Unlikely. She was sure as shit that her lungs didn't work anymore.

The lighter was in her hands. She didn't remember going for it. She didn't even remember what it was for. Muscles moved on their own. Fingers grazed over the engraving as they flipped the lid off. A thumb pressed into the worn-out face of a cherubic pin-up girl. The fuse crackled and spat sparks. She backstepped as the yao guai reared up to charge.

There were only yards between them. And it moved before she did.

She felt it then - that terror of knowing you've come to the end, but not knowing what's after.

The dynamite went flying. Not far enough. It connected with the yao guai's head and fell to the ground. A clawed foot kicked it forward as it lunged for her, snarling. She made a wild attempt to skirt it, to put the station between her and the monster. It was faster. It barreled forward, its massive size blocking all viable paths of escape.

She wondered if she'd go somewhere. Or if she'd just stop.

Dallas took her final step backward and spun around. The air around her turned to fire. She couldn't tell at first if the blow to her back was the creature or the blast. Either way, she fell.

She wondered if it would hurt. Then she didn't wonder anymore.

Until minutes, days, maybe months later, she opened her eyes to the new brown world. Her mouth opened and water filled it. There was no breath to draw. Panic eluded her. She was half there. Half aware. She thought she'd already done this part. Did everyone have to die twice?  
  
Three times, actually.

The thought was punctuated by a an awakening of her nerves. Burning and screaming as a fiery pillars braced her back and hoisted her up. Higher and higher until she surfaced under the punishing light of day. She heaved and expelled a mouthful of water. Air seared her lungs. Eyes failed to focus in the glare until Daniel turned his head, the brim of his hat shielding her from the sun's rays. Dimly, she noted the yelling stopped. Someone had been yelling. His features sharpened above her. Saw his mouth contorting as he seemed to shout at someone in the distance. She heard words that didn't mean anything. She met eyes that spoke volumes. Then everything vaulted sideways.

She wondered if it was too late to go back to being a courier. Shit like this didn't happen to couriers. She wondered why she stopped in the first place.

Not that it mattered. It was over. Dallas was going to die in Utah.

With her last conscious thought, she cursed Benny's name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments feed my self-esteem.


	4. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for semi-graphic descriptions of gore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just did not want to happen. It flows very differently than the previous chapters, and I'm sorry for the brevity. Just needed to get it out of the way. Your comments keep me writing, so please let me know what you thought.

At first, there was just silence. Blissful nothingness, the absence of all but a minuscule seed: the beginnings of self-awareness.

Over eons, the silence evolved and took a shape. It sparked to life, a pricking in the mind that set her thoughts in motion and placed a name upon her tongue. Dallas couldn’t discern where she was, but she experienced a brief thrill when her mind proposed that she’d come to the place after death. Not the heaven or hell that Graham suggested; she knew those words as oaths, not destinations. But she was certain that wherever her consciousness now resided, it was far away from the world she’d known.

Her heart swelled as thoughts multiplied, filling her head with dreamy, beautiful notions. She had cast off the burdens of living. No more treks into the unending desert or battles with the wretches it spat upon the wastes.

This was what she’d scrapped and lied and killed to escape? How could this death be what she’d dreaded?   
  
As if on cue, there came a quaking from below. It rattled her bones, split the calm, and rent her paradise asunder.   
  
She came back to the world in a blinding burst of agony.   
  
A terrible cry rang out around her - part scream, part roar - a sound of utter misery. She felt the tissue in her throat go raw, and she seized up as the air scorched her lungs. Muscles spasmed and twisted, but firm hands held her down through the throes. When at last her eyes opened, her tortured mind pieced together a broken, terrible thought.  
  
This was _hell_.

Then the shifting blurs around her solidified, and she felt the wavering shapes in view become faces her mind recognized, but could not name. This torment affected her on a cellular level; the excruciating pain completely overpowered her rational mind and shredded lucid thoughts to tatters. It left her with something primal, crude, and incapable of doing anything but fighting the weight that pinned her there.  
  
Distantly, she recognized those screams as her own. And she was running out of air. Her cries bled into heavy sobs. Painful, sucking sounds that made the brittle cage around her heart feel as though it would splinter and destroy her from within.  
  
Oh, everything hurt. It hurt so badly, and she could thinking of nothing on this foul earth worth enduring it for.   
  
Through her struggle, Dallas was slowly becoming aware of the details of her surroundings. Beneath her, a hard surface. She was horizontal, and there were several pairs of hands on her. Her arms, neck, chest, someone even went so far as to pin her legs down while she thrashed. She was no stranger to injury. Bullets, blades, teeth - she'd endured it all, and Arcade always managed to patch her up. But this was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. In the past, she'd known what it meant to feel broken. Down, but not completely out - fixable. Lying there on that table, she felt as though she'd been unmade. She didn't even feel human anymore.   
  
Felt more like meat than anything.

Caked with dirt and blood, writhing in a mass of lacerations, and filled to bursting with broken bones, she begged.  
  
She begged for death.  
  
“Let me go,” she keened at whoever would listen, the torches on the wall burning blurred in the distance like dying suns. Blood pulled in her mouth, and she choked when she tried to inhale around it.  
  
There came no reply. No promise that her request would be fulfilled.  
  
“Kill me,” Speaking hurt so fiercely, but she had to. There would be no respite otherwise. She wanted a bullet - quick and clean. She wanted what should have taken her life months ago, the way it ought to have been.

Back when she’d first resigned herself to be the unlucky pawn in someone else’s dead end game.  
  
The act of spitting out the accumulated fluids pained her, but it kept threatening to suffocate her. Muscles flexed, and the blood spilled out of the corners of her mouth in pulpy streams. Dallas was certain the flesh was no longer intact. She could feel her bottom splitting against her teeth as she spoke.  
  
Daniel’s voice came through first, high and full of worry, but the words weren’t for her.  
  
“I don’t even know where to start. She has-”  
  
Panic swelled within her. If they wouldn’t listen, she’d find her own way back to the silence. That was all that mattered now. She was so goddamn tired, every cell in her body begged for this to just end. Dallas surged upward with all the might she still possessed, but the hands, the damn hands wouldn’t let her go. The pressure on her battered body wrenched another ragged scream from her.  
  
The back of her head hit the wood with a dull thud. Her teeth grit through dry, wracking sobs. Once again, she could make out the muddled sounds of male voices, conspiring above her. The low thunder of a familiar voice rolled over her body and made her quake. “Do what you must.”  
  
“Stop,” she wheezed.   
  
Joshua Graham shifted into her field of view, upside down and above her. Bandaged palms gently but firmly moved to cradle her head in his hands. There was nowhere for her to turn. Eyes rolled up in their sockets to meet his, full of the pleading desperation she couldn’t articulate. The muscles in her throat spasmed as she struggled to swallow. A charred thumb grazed her cheekbone. He bowed over her.

Would he be her executioner, then? Was it all in vain, this bloody plight against Caesar’s hordes? Her life lay in the hands of the Malpais Legate, the absolute last person she ever wanted to owe her life to. Sober and in control of her faculties, she could steel herself against him. What did it matter now, though? It was over, he had to know that. She cursed herself in broken thoughts, hating how she feared him and how completely that fear washed over her now. Would he take her out of spite, to avenge the Legion and return to his former glory? Was that what she saw in his eyes, the light that scared her so?

The same intent she saw every time she searched her reflection.  
  
Despite all that ailed her, every inch of rent flesh, the expanses of skin reduced to dark maps of blood and nebulous bruises, she mourned. She mourned that this would be her end: death by all she ever hated and feared in this world. It was never the mutated monstrosities that lurked in the night she dreaded, nor the ever-churning storms of sand that could swallow her whole.

It was people. It was always just people.  
  
His forehead hovered mere inches above hers. He was so close, she could make out crimson splotches of fluid upon the bandages.   
  
She could not control how openly she wept. Dry, silent tears.   
  
“Hush,” he soothed, his voice seeping into her marrow. “Don’t try to speak,” The words pulled another set of wracking, heavy sobs from her. Her chest ached with each shuddering inhale.  
  
She quivered in his hands. How could he deny her this, the mercy she’d earned? After all she’d given the Dead Horses and Sorrows, all she’d sacrificed to the altar of Zion. She’d flung herself to their feud for the sake of what she deemed righteous.  
  
Now there were hands inching up her torso and dangerously close to her ribs, where invisible daggers pierced her insides.  
  
“Graham, st... stop,” Dallas croaked, mouthing words in spite of the pain they caused. Anything more than monosyllabic grunts were just too difficult to form, but she tried desperately.  
  
“Not today,” he murmured so deeply and close to her, she could feel his breath on her nose through the linens binding him together.   
  
Hate bloomed within her. White hot hate for the Burned Man who would not let her die. She opened her mouth to damn him, but all she produced were rattling, gurgling noises as blood drowned her words. Fingers prodded at her ribs and awoke a whole new kind of agony within her.  
  
Joshua Graham’s grip tightened around her jaw while Dallas squirmed. He guided her face upward, preventing her from looking down. When blood threatened to choke her again and she began to sputter, he'd gently guide her head sideways until it all spilled out effortlessly upon the table. Still, she strained her eyes to see what was being done to her. Distantly, she noted the sensations of clothing being peeled away - they might as well have torn the flesh clear off her. Another scream welled in her chest. Muscles coiled and her body readied itself to thrash, but Joshua held her head in a vice grip.   
  
Voices exchanged words down by her hips, but she could not discern what they meant. She could barely make out the gleaming edge of a bone, jutting upward harshly from where her intact shin ought to have been. Another scream threatened to erupt from within her.  
  
Joshua’s voice pierced through the din, commanding her attention. He spoke softly but with such firm certainty. She couldn’t help but listen.   
  
“‘The Lord shall judge the people: judge me, oh Lord, according to my righteousness...”   
  
A spike of pain shot up her spine as someone moved something that she was certain ought not to have been moved. Dallas let slip a broken cry, but Joshua did not quiet. Tension built up within her - she could feel it in her very core, as though something inside her was being pulled taut.   
  
“'... and according to mine integrity that is in me. Let the wickedness of the wicked come to an end,'” His thumbs pressed to her temples now. Daniel crossed her line of sight - disheveled, and absolutely stricken.  
  
If he only _knew_. That tightness mounted, and though Joshua's words drowned out most of the chaos inside the cave, it didn't smother that feeling of being drawn to the point of breaking.   
  
She caught the glint of light reflecting off the blade of the scalpel Daniel held in his hand. Every muscle in her body rebelled at the sight, trembling. He disappeared from her vision, he was going to-  
  
“'... but establish the just: for the righteous God trieth the hearts and reins.'”  
  
At last, everything snapped. Then, she was on fire again. Her back arched so sharply, the hands weren’t ready. She raised all but her head and legs off the table. One leg wanted nothing to do with whatever her brain was telling it to do. She screamed then without care for the lacerated flesh she tore further, or the deafening protests of her nerves as she contorted and writhed there.    
  
Then, suddenly, nothing.


	5. Absolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Don't want to spoil anything, but if you're not cool with suicidal thoughts or attempts, don't read this chapter.

With the dawn came fire. Not the roaring inferno that once ravaged her - before the darkness - but the slow burn of smoldering ash. It may not actually have been morning, but night seemed so long ago that her internal clock told her that the sun had to have sunk and risen while she slept.  
  
Fire flickered along the walls in fixed points. The torches were still lit. Nothing obscured their light; she was alone, from what she could see as she lay upon the table. The bodies that surrounded her earlier were gone, and she lay there unrestrained, free to look around and move as she pleased - if she could manage it. But she ached something fierce. Her lungs were singed and aching, and each new gulp of air wrought from her a pained shudder. It was as if she’d just ran miles without stopping until a freight train hit her square in the chest. Her breath hitched.  
  
The world around her blurred and swam. A heavy certainty came over her, a single-minded purpose that bid her to escape at last. It drove her to wriggle off the table in a laborious, slow fumbling of limbs. Every nerve in her body protested the movement, and she bit down hard on her split lip to stifle her groans. Muscles swelled around broken bones as she moved, reminding her just how beaten she was.  
  
She wouldn’t be for much longer.  
  
It took a few tries, and she nearly vomited in the process, but she eventually got herself upright. By the time she was up and sitting still, beads of sweat formed beneath the stringy locks of hair that stuck to her face. Her legs dangled over the table, one of them crudely splinted with a roughly-shaved stick and bound painfully tight by swathes of makeshift bandages. When she attempt to stand, she swayed sharply into the earthen wall of the cave.

A stabbing pain bloomed in her side he she bit back a scream. Air hissed in and out through her nose. Scratched up palms splayed against the wall and she took her first wobbly step forward, letting the side of the cave support most of her weight. Slowly, the pain ebbed and her vision sharpened. Thoughts formed more swiftly without the haze of pain clouding her mind.  
  
At last, she moved with cautious certainty. She could feel a weak breeze beckoning her down the hall and toward the cave’s mouth. The indigo grey of pre-dawn lit her way, and she followed it eagerly until she stood at the opening of Angel Cave, staring with her cotton mouth agape up at the brightening sky. The smell of fresh water filled her nostrils, clean and delicious as it lapped at the shore. The cool night air pricked her skin and pierced through her jeans and tank. The heavens beamed down on her, open and endless, beckoning.

She bid farewell to the last few stars.  
  
It was a hell of a thing to see on any given day, when most of the world’s asleep and trying to forget. Dallas thinks it’s a shame more people aren’t around at that hour to see them; they might have tried a little harder not to kill this place. Night is when the earth finally smiles.

She could leave this world just fine knowing those stars would be the last thing she’d ever see. Dallas could think of worse ways to go.  
  
Leaving the safety of the wall was a feat, but soon, she wasn’t paying attention to the broken ribs and shattered bones. Water licked at her boots and shins and suddenly, instead of heat, she felt the sweet relief of the river’s cool waters.

Holding herself up didn’t seem so hard anymore. The water took away her weight. It would take away everything else, too. That’s all she wanted.   
  
She was tired of feeling so heavy all the time. She’d spent months placing other people’s burdens on her shoulders, thinking it would absolve her of all the bad she’d done. For a time, it worked. But the good never seemed to wash it all away. It was always there in her shadow, never very far behind.   
  
Forgiving Benny was supposed to be the end of it, the last act of selflessness that would set her free. She could hang up her hat and walk into the sunset, never to look back.  
  
Instead, it was her undoing - another knife in the back that would begin the rapid unraveling over everything she’d forced herself to become.  
  
She was tired. She’d lost too many pieces along the way to see herself as a whole person anymore.   
  
The water was damn near icy as she waded deeper. The sun hadn’t had a chance to warm it up. It didn’t take long for numbness to set in. She couldn’t feel her extremities anymore, and for once, it was a good thing. She sank to her knees, letting slip a soft cry as the movement rattled her shattered body. The river lapped at her chest; the gentle current urged her body forward. Swollen eyelids fluttered shut as she basked in the relief the water brought her.   
  
She couldn’t stand again even if she tried. Slowly, she bowed her head as if in prayer, like the Horses used to do. Dallas prayed she’d never wake up.  
  
Then she let the water take her.  
  
An arm hooked around her midsection and she was pulled back sharply into a solid chest, dragging her gasping body from the river’s embrace. It jarred her ribs and she yelped in earnest as Joshua Graham’s voice rumbled through her from behind.  
  
“Easy, now,” his words nearly sunk into her skin and soothed her, controlled her, but she didn't want them. She heard the darkness in him. She was done falling for the lie of ‘better.’ She wanted it to be over for good. When she failed to find her words, she just growled. She scrambled to be free of him, but he dragged her to her feet; a knee buckled beneath her and she faltered, splashing violently as Graham tried to restrain her without aggravating broken bones.   
  
He had her in a vice-like embrace. Her head lolled back against his collarbone when she finally ran out of steam, her efforts fruitless. Her chest heaved As she sagged against him, the immovable object  her back.

“Come on, Graham,” she rasped, a defeated kind of humor in her words. “Look at me - I’m done for. Let me go.”  
  
She was only distantly aware of how Joshua was supporting almost all of her weight as he backed them both away from the river’s edge.   
  
He replied gravely, “You haven’t earned this death, courier, nor do you want it. You might not believe that divine providence spared your life, but it’s the devil that makes a man squander the gifts that God bestows upon him. And there is no place for that evil here.”

The Burned Man leaned down until she could hear the scratching of flesh against fabric, and feel his breath against the shell of her ear.

His words were dark and tinged with something that struck fear into Dallas’ heart. “I will kill you myself before I allow such a sin in my flock.”

Dallas could barely swallow. Her pulse thrummed rapidly in her neck. She fixed her gaze above the hills, where the first spark of sunlight glimmered through the crags.   
  
“Do it, then. I’m not your flock,” she croaked.   
  
He growled in reply, drowning her protest, “No, you're not. But you are lost and straying toward perdition. You made an oath to aid my people, and I choose to repay you in kind. If that means saving you from your own self, then so be it.”   
  
Before she could begin her resistance anew, Graham bent forward to hook his arms under her knees. He hoisted her off her feet with little effort, and she wondered just how infirm the Burned Man could be under all those bandages, as he took her back into the darkness.

* * *

 

She awoke on the ground, stiff and starving, but too nauseated to seriously consider eating something. There was a layer of padding beneath her forming a makeshift bed of coats and soft foliage - what little there was  to be found in the canyons of Zion. A thread of saliva broke as she lifted her head up, dizzy and sluggish. She’d been returned to the cave, her wounds redressed and boots removed.   
  
Dallas’ thoughts of escape fizzled out as soon as she moved her arms and found her wrists bound in linens and thick cords of knotted rope. Another rope connected her bindings to a pike drive into the ground above her head. There was room to sit up and roll around a little, but not much else. In that moment, she could roll onto her uninjured side and face the small fire crackling at the center of the cave.  
  
Beside it, Joshua Graham sat in repose, book in hand while he read from it. He didn’t look up when Dallas began rustling. She felt marginally better than she had when she’d first tried to commend herself to the river, but the pain never left her. She’d never actually slept after her fall; not in the way she ought to have. There was a difference between passing out from exhaustion and pain, and restful, willing sleep. All the while, the same fever afflicted her. It wasn’t as terrible compared to the rest of the things that ailed her, but all of it combined rendered her utterly miserable either way.

It made tears well up in her ducts, but she was no longer the kind of person who cried.

Watery eyes burned as they glared at Joshua Graham. She watched him silently as he read, her gaze full of an exhausted kind of resentment. A whole minute passed before he looked up from his reading, firelight glinting in his eyes.  
  
Neither spoke a word. After a while of unbroken eye contact, Dallas finally spat upon the ground before she rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling. She swallowed a cry; she'd forgotten about the tear in her lip. It was low, she knew that too well, but she didn’t care. She was beyond exhausted and hurt, and her way out had been taken from her.

The pleasant numbness the river granted her seemed like a distant memory. Now, anger sparked to life deep inside her.

Sometime later, perhaps hours, she fell asleep to thoughts of vengeance. But the sleep was natural for once, and blessedly deep. Though she would never speak of the dreams that followed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time coming, and I know it was a short one, but the next chapter is underway. Please review if you have time! I'd love to know what you thought.


End file.
